


Chasing the Sun

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: Abuse, Acceptance, Acid Attack, Angst, Bakery, Controlling Relationships, Dracula has feelings, Dracula likes to cook for you, Dracula visits, Dracula worships the sun, F/M, Fluff, Hope, Hospital, Insecurity, Protective Dracula, Reader works in a tanning salon, Scarring, Sexual References, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampire Feeding, caring Dracula, image perception, mention of murder, possessive Dracula, references to mortality and immortality, sensitive skin, strong senses, unwanted sexual advance, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24124645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: When Dracula goes in search of the closest thing that he can have to the sun and he finds you it leads to events thatneitherof you could have predicted...
Relationships: Dracula/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	Chasing the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chibicheeberson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibicheeberson/gifts).



> Hi, I hope you enjoy this. :3

The first time you meet you are stood behind the reception counter in the place that you work wondering if you should shuffle the leaflets on the counter for the fifth time that day into a neater position. It's not like anyone has picked one up since you _last_ did such a thing, _but,_ in keeping with your mood they seem to have slumped sideways. One of the corners is nudging against the plastic of the stand that they're in. You push them back into place with a bit of a sigh, before you, just for good measure, put the business cards in line with one another as well. As you are doing such a thing the name of the place where you work catches your eye: _'Chasing the Sun Salon.'_ You sigh and not for the _first_ time that day the white, close-fitting uniform that you are wearing feels stiff and uncomfortable, as does your mind. You try to reassure yourself. This is just a job to start you off, to get some money and experience in, so that you might be able to progress _more_ in the personal health care and retail industry as time goes on. You are _not_ going to be passing people on to colleagues who let them into the sun tan beds, noticing how the client's skin has changed colour from before and having men old enough to be your grandfather come onto you _forever._

You are brought out of your attempt to bolster your mind to help get you through the day when the front door suddenly swings open and you fix a bit of a smile on your face, hoping that you don't look _too_ keen, but you could _really_ do with a distraction and some entertainment right about now.

There is a bit of a delay and you wonder if a draught somewhere had just been the cause of the door opening for a moment, but then a very tall man steps through it, blinking a little at the white walls. 

"It can take a while to get used to it," you try to joke. You don't know _why_ you try and do such a thing. Part of it is probably the customer service that has been drummed into you by your manager. The other might be to do with the _natural_ appreciation that your eyes seem to have for him. With his height, strong looking frame and short, dark hair that has the potential to go floppy he is not exactly hard to look at. 

The man's eyes latch on to you. "Do you work here?" All of a sudden he is in front of you and you find yourself blinking. You don't remember him moving or any sound that had come from him as he'd done such a thing. It had just seemed to happen. Suddenly his fingers-he looks like he'll need to trim his nails soon and he's wearing a curiously old-fashioned ring on one of them, a family heirloom maybe?-are loosely on the reception counter, before he's guiding up one of his hands to encourage you to look at his face. His teeth are a little bit uneven and you find that _incredibly_ endearing in that moment. His _eyes_ -His eyes are dark and bottomless, but there is a light inside them too. One that is shining enthusiastically on you. He's a bit different from your other clients you sense. Somehow modern and traditional all in one. 

"Um, yes, but it won't be forever," you say in response to his question, before you can stop yourself. Mortified you rake a hand through your h/c tresses. "Sorry. How may I help you today?"

"But _why?_ Why would you want to leave a job like this?" He leans all the closer to you. "That is if this place _really_ does what I've heard it does?"

You're not sure how to respond to that. What _has_ he heard? "We offer sun tan"-

"Yes, the rays of the sun replicated. How does _that_ work exactly?"

You slip one of the leaflets out from the stand, open it up and point to the image of a person who is half-coming out of one of the sun beds, looking bronzed and happy from the experience that they have just had. "You go in here sir." It's clearly his first time trying something like this out. He's probably the rich, playboy type whose been teased for being a little _too_ pale by his friends and is now considering an all year round holiday tan. As part of your job you will have to convince him that it will be suitable. 

"It looks like a coffin!" Your heads are close together as you study the image. 

"With the added benefit that you get to come out again." You pull your head back and give him a bit of a smile, taking comfort from the air, which is free from his earth and tangy cologne that has sent your head in a bit of a spin. 

He smiles at you fondly as if _you_ are the silly one. "And when you are there you get the benefit as if the sun is on you?" he questions. 

"Yes sir." You are a bit uncomfortable about how _slowly_ this is all progressing and your hands fidget around the leaflet, making it curve until it pops in the middle and jumps. You flatten it embarrassedly. 

A moment later one of the inner doors opens and a silver-haired gentleman steps out. He is _far_ shorter than the man who had come in and with freshly tanned skin. It hasn't hidden the wrinkles that are on his face though. 

The man who had come in is still _marvelling_ over what you had just said. "One of the most beautiful things that humans could have made ordinary," he says with a shake of his head. 

You are just about to ask what he means by that when the silver-haired man pushes in front of him ever so slightly so that he can pay. You are sure that you hear a _growl_ coming from the dark-haired man, but a moment later you think that you must have imagined the thing for when you look his way it is to find that he is stepping back with a level expression upon his face. 

"Be a good girl and get the bill for me, would you?" the silver-haired man interrupts your observation. 

You swallow down a remark about what he'd just called you. The customer is _always_ right after all. "Certainly sir." You twist your body ever so slightly, tap a few keys on the computer by your side and wait for the report of what the man has had done that day to come through. When it does so you are able to tell him the amount that he owes. He wishes to pay by card, as most people do in the place and as you are drawing your hand away from the card reader he grasps at it. You startle at his touch, your hand fluttering like a trapped moth beneath him. You think that you hear a _rumbling_ sound coming from the dark-haired man, but you can't be sure. 

"What does one have to do here to get a more... _personal_ experience?" the silver-haired man leans forward, tightening his hold on you as he does such a thing. His warm breath hits your ear and smells of whisky and cigarettes. "A massage from you perhaps? I would be willing to pay a little extra. It doesn't _look_ busy. We could go back there now"- his fat fingers feel slug-like as they stroke at your skin. 

"I'm sorry sir, but I haven't been trained in such measures," you try and keep your voice light and breezy, but inside your heart is thumping. 

_"I_ could guide you"-

"I believe that the lady said no." The dark-haired man steps right up to the reception desk and looks heatedly into the other's eyes. 

"Didn't realize they kept _bodyguards_ in this place?" The silver-haired man sneers at him, before he gives the pair of you a contemptuous glance and shoves his card in the machine grumpily, jerking it a bit for good measure. The dark-haired man watches him, not even backing away when the silver-haired man looks at him pointedly, before he enters his PIN number, being forced to shield what he is doing with his hand for privacy. Your _own_ hand is a little shaky as you give him the receipt and you are sure that the dark-haired man notices _that_ as well. It is a relief when the silver-haired man finally leaves and you almost _laugh_ weakly when you hear him complaining of rain, before the door has shut properly behind him. 

"Yes, I can see why you might not want to work here," the dark-haired man is grim as he surveys you. 

"I'm fine," you answer his unasked question, before you acknowledge, "Thank you for that, but maybe you shouldn't get involved if you see that happening with that man again." You pretend to be doing something on the computer. 

"Why? Who is he?" He sounds curious. 

You look up at him. "He has a lot of influence in this part of town." You grimace. "For all intents and purposes I should probably have gone in the back with him just now. He likes to get his way and there are usually consequences when people _don't_ do what he wants." You don't want to think what _yours_ will be. A light shiver runs across your frame. "Anyway, that's just a warning for you. What can I do for you sir? Would you like to book a session for yourself maybe?" A thought suddenly occurs to you. "For the sun tan bed- _not"-_ You look at him embarrassedly. 

"Oh no." He waves a charming hand, but you curse yourself inwardly. You've lost him. You haven't even been able to make a new booking. "I have quite sensitive skin you see"- He flashes you a smile. 

_"Allergies?"_ You jump on the opportunity. _"Well..."_ You go around the reception desk and to the shelving on the side that's full of products, turning your back on him as you find what you are looking for. You hear him this time as he takes a deliberate step towards you. Your heart hitches inside your chest. You nearly knock several things off the shelf as you grab the spray tan in a tube and whirl back around to face him again. He is a couple of small steps away from you. His triangular eyebrows rise slightly when he sees what you are holding. "You could try this yourself at home." He comes a step closer to you. "It's suitable for people with allergies and it's only a couple of shades darker than your normal skin tone, so it shouldn't be _too_ drastic." You attempt to smile winningly at him, but your heart is thudding inside your chest at his closeness and your throat feels incredibly dry. In front of you like this, with nothing in between you, he seems to be all the _more_ mesmerizing. 

He bridges the gap between you, caressing at your hand and being careful with his pointed fingernails at the same time that he encourages you to lift the tube a bit higher, so that he can see it more clearly. You fail to suppress a shiver. His hands are masculine and worked, but _so_ much nicer than the silver-haired man's had been. _Cold_ however..."May I hear the ingredients?" Steadily you turn the bottle and read them out to him. He must have had bad experiences because of his allergies in the past, you think, to be _this_ careful. He nods slowly as you come to the end. "I think that will be okay. You have a beautiful voice." You don't know _what_ to make of that last comment and he seems to understand, for he moves the conversation on, "May I try a sample of it, before I buy?"

"Certainly sir." You nod your head jerkily and exchange the tube that you are holding for the sample one, teetering on your tiptoes as you do such a thing. You miss how the man's eyes trail to the band of skin that shows when the top of your uniform hitches up and the swipe of tongue that follows across his lips. You hear him moving around again, however, but when you look back the man is now sitting on one of the chairs that are in the reception room, his legs spread open and looking at you casually. 

Aware that you might be getting into something as _dangerous_ as what the silver-haired man had suggested and the dark-haired man might _not_ be your hero after all, you are careful as you step in between his legs.

Perfunctory as you say, "Lift up your hand for me please sir." He does so innocently enough and you steady your breathing as you twist the cap of the tube open and squeeze a dollop of the tan on to your finger. The man looks at it warily. 

"You said that the ingredients sounded okay," you remind him and he nods. Carefully you support his hand with your other one, before you rub the tan gently on, making the warm colour seep into the back and middle of his pale hand. He tenses and hisses. You stop. 

"No, please continue," he urges, "It doesn't hurt me. It doesn't _hurt_ me," there is something _wondrous_ in the tone of his voice now and when you look at him you see that he _genuinely_ appears emotional about the experience. "I never knew that such wonders could exist..." he murmurs. "That you could _replicate_ the sun. I know it is not the real thing, but to think that I will _look_ as if I have had her rays on me without her harming me. It is a gift for someone like me. A _true_ gift. I cannot tell you what it means to me." He looks at you. 

"You can't get out much because of your allergies?" You look at him sympathetically, thinking that he must have fared better today because of the odd fog that had been outside along with the rain. You'd spotted it in your lunch break. 

He smiles at you again, this time a little guiltily. It occurs to you _why_ when you notice two pointed fangs. "It's difficult for my kind..." 

It's as if reality both tilts and _slaps_ you in that moment. You stagger back and throw the tube down on to the floor. Some of the tan oozes a bit out on to the tiles. 

"You shouldn't waste it." He rises. "It's precious. In fact you have given me a precious gift today. Though I confess that all the excitement _has_ made me a little bit hungry." His eyes flare red, before he seems to get a hold of himself. You gulp all the same. "But I _would_ like to pay you back in some way. Maybe I could stop gentlemen like the one from before from doing anything bad to you?"

"And then what? Save me for _yourself?"_ you ask. 

He looks a little saddened by your hostility. "I don't know _why_ the prospect of death is such a surprise to humans. You have been _dying_ since the day that you were _born,"_ he says that last part a little more loudly and every part of you _screams_ that you should get out of there. His lips quirk upward again and throw you off guard. "I can give you a _good_ death, however. I can make you _last,_ and after what you have given me today I think that you deserve such a thing." He approaches. "Don't you?" He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You let out a breathy gasp as one of his fingers nudges against your sensitive skin and shiver. "The girl who gave me the sun in a tube. Yes, I don't want to have you for a _while_ yet..." You swallow and wonder if you can make it to the door without him stopping you. "Oh, I wouldn't run." His hand cups at your cheek in a remarkably gentle fashion. "You can either have a cruel death at the hands of someone like that man who has just left or a better one with me, but you won't be able to escape death either way. The choice is up to you." 

"I-I"- your words falter as your eyes fixate on his lips as he bends close. 

"That's right. Don't run." His lips slide gently in between your top one. He caresses it reverently for a moment, before pressing _harder_ when your hand fists in his hair, whilst your other clings to his waist. 

He waits for it. You hold on better than _most_ people do, before your grip slackens and you are practically _asleep_ by the time that he next pulls away from you. You fall into his waiting arms. A smile blossoms on to his face when he thinks that he has captured what will be his next prize. But _you_ will turn out to be different. 

*

Sometimes you don't remember _much_ about when you had met Dracula, but you do know that he has been a presence in your life for a while now and that it feels natural when he is around and that the world seems oddly off-kilter when he isn't and _mostly,_ now that you have overcome your initial questions about what he is, you are fine with the thing. You think that you remember having an argument with him once or twice about it but are unable to re-call the exact specific details of what had triggered it and odd patches in your mind are blank. But you _can_ remember the sweeter parts of your relationship like walking to and from work with Dracula, Dracula showing up whenever the silver-haired man is booked in and stopping him from doing anything to you, even from making any remarks to you and the silver-haired man _grinding_ his teeth together and looking frustrated by the situation. Going to where Dracula lives. Him coming to yours and waiting for you to invite him in. Him leaving sun tan upon all of your towels and grinning at you with only a _little_ bit of guilt.

Of course Dracula cannot be with you _every_ day. He sleeps a lot in the day, _especially_ when there is strong sunlight and it would be too suspicious for him to make the weather foggy so that he can come out in the day _all_ the time, but you try and see one another most nights. 

It is one of those days where you are slightly bored at work and Dracula is at home sleeping that it happens: the silver-haired man walks in on a day when you are _not_ expecting him to, on a day that he _hasn't_ been booked and your heart hitches, your hands grow clammy and each polite word that you need to say to him feels heavy and large in your mouth. _Too_ much so to come out. 

He looks at you and smiles with a _well-mannered_ sort of curiosity. "I re-booked. Did the other girl not tell you?"

You shake your head. You hadn't been in work yesterday. You'd spent a lovely day with Dracula instead, although you must have gotten a little tired as it had gone on because your memory is a little hazy. You feel exhilarated from it all though so it must have been good. 

"Not to worry. I'm sure it's on your computer." He gestures. 

Amazingly he doesn't seem to be _interested_ in making inappropriate advances on you that day and you wonder if he's _finally_ gotten over the thing and the message has gotten through to him thanks to the help of Dracula. 

*

After that you find yourself more cheerful on your way home. You even stop at the local bakery to buy yourself a celebratory pastry. You _know_ that Dracula won't be able to enjoy it with you, but he seems to take pleasure when you're happy so there's _that..._

With a smile you slip around to the alleyway that's next to the bakery and take the shortcut home, which you've been stopping yourself from doing lately what with the situation with the silver-haired man and a protective boyfriend who had _forbidden_ you from taking such routes. You don't _have_ to prevent yourself any more though. You're looking forward to telling Dracula about the turn-around with the silver-haired man. _Surely_ he'll be pleased about the thing-

At the sound of footsteps you turn around. Four youths, who are a mixture of races, approach you, all in hoodies and baggy clothing, one of them holding the handles of a stripy red and white plastic carrier bag. Their eyes are steady as they observe you. You have a bad feeling. Your head whips around to look at the other end of the alleyway. The silver-haired man is there and he just _watches_ as they draw closer to you...

*

Dracula wakes with a bad feeling inside of him. A gut feeling that something is wrong and it has to do with _you_ for some reason... 

To try and shake it off he gets ready and heads out. The sky is overcast already that day so he doesn't _need_ to make any fog appear. He heads to your apartment, hoping that if he lays his eyes on you then that will make him feel better. But when he gets to the area something is off. It takes him a moment to realize that it's because he can't smell your recent presence there. He can vaguely detect that you'd left your apartment this morning, and in any case you had sent him a text on your way in to work, but many smells have layered themselves over yours since then and you have not been back there. Brow furrowed and feeling _weirdly_ concerned for you he traces the smell of you that he _can_ detect back towards your workplace. Maybe you had just stopped off somewhere? Run into an old friend? But something tells him that, that is _not_ the case and he continues to move stealthily forwards.

Your scent spikes around a bakery and he feels a slither of relief for a moment. That is until he realizes that your scent is _also_ strong in an alleyway that is right beside it. He curses you for a moment for even going there, before he feels bad and steps into it himself. A bin has been tipped over near to the entrance-mostly with waste from the bakery pouring out of it-and Dracula treads around it carefully, before his eyes are drawn towards a red and white plastic bag that is close to the alleyway's centre. It is fluttering by a stain of some sort. A scent lingers in the air as he approaches it and he stops for a moment and tries to work out what it is. There is two layers to it, no _three._ He stops walking when he realizes what they are: acid, fear and pain. Not death though. _Still,_ a fright of his own _seizes_ him, before he whirls around and runs, nearly sliding on a discarded bread roll as he does such a thing. 

In a state of agitation he goes to the nearest hospital and asks for you. He is given directions to the ward that you are on, but when he is just about to round the corner and go inside he feels afraid. The pace of his steps decrease until he just stops altogether. 

"Are you trying to find someone sir?" the concerned nurse who is on duty asks him, her hand reaching to touch his arm supportively. 

"I'm fine. I know where I'm going," he says, both in a surly fashion _and_ automatically even though he is _not_ sure, in that moment, if _either_ of those things are true. For he feels oddly guilty. He had promised you a good death and now he is about to see _just_ how much you have suffered and gotten close to the thing due to someone who _hadn't_ been as mindful of that. He also feels a little possessive about someone else touching you. The nurse must misread his face for something else for she looks at him a little sympathetically, before she goes on her way again. He tries to get a hold of himself. This is not as bad as if he were in battle after all and he hears the chink of metal on metal inside his head, the fight of his ancestors, men _far_ braver than he and he feels terribly _small_ in that moment. But he is not _in_ battle. He manages to take a step forward. Then another and another until he's back in his stride, rounding the corner and inspecting the members of the ward closely. He picks up your scent again. It leads him to a bed at the far end, which has curtains pulled around it. That and the overlying smell of disinfectant upon your scent makes that bad feeling return inside him, but he does not hesitate. He marches forward and pushes through the one remaining barrier that is between the pair of you. 

If his heart had been working then it would have dropped like a stone inside his chest. His mouth gapes. The oddest dampness pricks at his eyes and he realizes in that moment that his feelings have been _more_ than just about giving you a good death and he _is_ in a battle in that moment after all. His natural-self is fighting against all these new feelings that whirl around him fully at seeing your human fragility so exposed to him. He steps forward a little to allow the curtain that is around the bed to fall back into place and takes you in all the more. Your hair has been shaved, which makes your head look all the bumpier and more vulnerable. Your face is covered in bandages with little gaps for your eyes-shut in that moment probably from being exhausted after what you have been through-and mouth. You are breathing steadily according to the heart rate monitor that you are attached to and the whispers of your breath rustle against your white confinements. Bandages too are wrapped around both of your palms. 

"Oh my darling." He moves around to the side of your bed and looks down at you. A single tear stains his face and the oddest bumps of emotion rise and fall inside him like the breath he no longer has to play with as he moves his fingers close to your own until they are not quite touching. He wants to protect you. He has been unable to die _gloriously_ in battle and now he has also failed at the simple task of keeping you safe despite the fact that someone _else_ had threatened you with harm right on the day that you had met. He does not think that he has not had _any_ emotions like this flying through him for years, despite having witnessed _more_ than enough beings, some of them his own family, in hospitals and make-shift ones throughout the past five centuries. He doesn't admit to himself in that moment that he loves you. Instead he lets his mind put on a play for him of how you might have gotten there. He sees you there in that alleyway. Sees you trying to protect yourself in the only way that had been available to you by throwing your hands up, as the acid had been thrown by a mysterious figure. He wonders if the silver-haired man had been responsible for it somehow-though probably he had not thrown the acid over you himself because Dracula has met many men like him and he _knows_ how they operate-and feels a burning anger about the thing. He imagines you staggering about and trying to get help for yourself, possibly knocking over that bin when _he_ should have been there to support you... 

_"Drac..."_ Your fingers twitch against his. Your eyes _delicately_ blink open.

"I'm here," he rumbles the words. Wraps you in them, for in their confines you are protected and safe and will _never_ be harmed like this again. He will see to it and do better now. He moves your hand to put it on top of his, _wanting_ to be your safety net in that moment and afraid that he might _actually_ crush you if he should smother you with his own. You feel it and re-familiarize yourself with its coarseness. He lets out an approving, but absent-minded grumble as you do such a thing. 

_"Drac?"_ you squeak. You lift your hand up so that your eyes can bear witness to the fact that it is bandaged. You shudder. The rhythm of your heart monitor becomes uneven. Your eyelashes tremble. 

"It's all right," he soothes, standing up, half-bending and reaching across so that he can place a gentle hand upon where he _knows_ your waist to be underneath the covers.

"It was him Drac," you say and he does not have to question _who_ you mean. The silver-haired man. The person who has been the _bane_ of your existence ever since he has known you and Dracula had known that and _still_ that man had been able to harm you. "He got his thugs to do it, but he _watched,"_ your voice is high-pitched and afraid, "A-And now...A-And now I'm not going to be able to work there again, am I?"

"Just focus on your recovery first," Dracula tries to tell you not to worry about that for now and _personally_ feels more concerned with dealing with the silver-haired man. 

"N-No you don't understand. Image is _everything_ in a place like that. I _told_ you there would be consequences..." you laugh bitterly. 

Dracula's grip tightens upon you. "There will be consequences for _him_ too," he murmurs darkly. 

*

"What did you do to him?"

It is several weeks later and you are back home in your apartment. Dracula would like you to move in with _him_ in time, but for now you are more comfortable around your familiar things. You have some minor scarring on your face and your hands are worse off still. You might never work in the sector that you had wanted to-confidence and trusting people not to shy away from how your hands look in particular being your main issues-and have already lost your old job as you had been too frightened to return to it. But Dracula has been looking after you. _Ironically,_ considering what he is, trying to bring a little light into your life like you'd brought into _his_ the first time that you'd met with the sun tan tube. He has re-learnt how to cook and does so for you, saying that you are what you eat and _ensuring_ that you get enough of the right things inside of you to become healthy again, even _though_ some of what he cooks could do with some paprika, and has taken an odd kind of pleasure from making food that he cannot eat himself. It makes him feel more in _control_ of the situation. There are times though when he spirals just like you do and goes off to hunt moodily for a few hours, before he returns to you again. Your bandages off you don't like looking in the mirror now any more than _he_ does and he often sees you frowning and trying to flex your hands, which you have difficulty moving at times. He has told you that mirrors are baubles of vanity and that it does not matter what you look like. That you are beautiful to him in any case. But sometimes, no matter _how_ hard he tries, he cannot convince you of the thing. You dream about what had happened a lot even though you don't want to talk about it. He has taken to sitting next to you whenever you are trying to get some sleep. He will wake you up softly when he sees that you are beginning to fall into a nightmare. Sometimes it takes you a while to work out where you are. Other times you cry instantly upon waking. Recovery will be a _long_ process for you, that much Dracula is aware of. 

But today you want to know _what_ had happened to the silver-haired man and stop sipping at the soup that he has provided you with, holding the bowl in between your hands and staring at him steadily.The thing that he used to call the picture box plays on low in the background, a newsreader reporting on the lunchtime news. 

He _knows_ that he cannot try and give you _no_ answer at all and has also been waiting to have a bit more of a conversation with you about things. For there are a few things that have built up inside him of late and they need to be released. He is just about to say something when you utter, "I heard a rumour that he's skipped town," in a means of trying to prompt him. You look cautiously at where he's sat on the other end of the settee. 

Dracula nods, satisfied with the story. "I persuaded him to," he says. 

"Is that _all?"_ You look at him a little warily. 

He smiles toothily at you, but does not make a comment. You might _guess_ that he has killed the man in retribution, but you don't _have_ to know about the fact that his body is in such a bad way that it will no longer be recognizable even if someone _were_ to find it that day. He wonders if you will push the issue and try and get him to tell you, but you go back to your soup. You find it a little difficult with your hands now to use cutlery and sometimes he has to help you. When he sees you clumsily handling the spoon he slides across and takes over, _smiling_ at you, as he dips the spoon into the bowl, before he lifts it up, ready for you to eat. 

You bend obligingly, but when you are almost there you hesitate, before you gently push the spoon away. Dracula wonders if you are about to get upset about the fact that you _now_ struggle with things that you had once found to be easy. You look at him warily. "I've been feeling...less hazy of late, which is kind of ironic because I'd quite _like_ to forget things right about now." Dracula feels a twinge of guilt. Had he been _wrong_ not to try and feed off you since your attack? Has he let you down? "It was you wasn't it? _You_ were responsible for making me feel that way. You've been..." You gesture at your neck. 

You seem to be upset about the thing so he says, "I _only_ did it when you started to get angry with me."

"So you did it to control me?" you question him. 

"What _other_ way was there for someone like me to stay with you?" 

You can think of _many_ ways. "You could have asked," you tell him, "You could have _told_ me what was worrying you instead of shutting me down like that and thinking that it would _only_ lead to me telling you to go if you hadn't done such a thing. I've-I've been worrying about you going as well, about you just taking off one day..." 

_"Why?"_ He sounds like he doesn't understand and the reason _why_ he doesn't seems suddenly clear to you. You let out a bitter sigh. 

"I just thought that what with"-you gesture at your face and your hand with the other-"That you might be feeling like it's time to move on. I was hoping that you would say goodbye if you did such a thing, but this is about what it's _always_ been about isn't it? You want to _kill_ me." You look at him squarely in the eye, as you reach the conclusion that has often led to the pair of you arguing and him feeding off you in the past. "You want to _drain_ me even though I can't say that my flavour is as good as it once was." 

"Oh, _I_ would disagree there," Dracula says, and he's hunched and leaning close now, as if he is _barely_ holding himself back. The spoon that he has been holding all this time splashes into the soup.

You present your neck to him. "Go on then." Tears prick at your eyes. "If you're going to do it someday then you might as well now. Think of it as a mercy killing. I don't have a future any more. Not one that _I_ can see anyway."

There is a moment's pause. You don't have to look his way, however, to know that red is infiltrating his eyes. You have just offered yourself up to him on a platter and he is a vampire. It was _always_ how this was meant to end. Instead of being too _aware_ of what is going to happen next, however, you keep your gaze fixated away from him and direct it instead towards the small shelf of knick-knacks that is on the side of the television. You don't want to know the moment that he decides to take your life. A snarling begins near by. You clutch at your soup, fighting the urge to throw it at him and just _trying_ to accept your fate. The fate that, according to Dracula, has always been coming to you anyway. You feel him draw closer to you. Your skin grows cold. Goose pimples litter its expanse. There is _more_ low growling. You feel afraid. You sense him taking in your scent. You don't realize as he does such a thing that a vision hits him. A vision of the pair of you walking down the street on an overcast day. You are both happy. You are chattering away about something that he cannot make out and you are more confident again, this is _not_ the you from the past few weeks. Your hair has grown back for one thing. He has a small, tender smile upon his face as he listens to you. He can tell just by looking at himself that though he is on guard and _alert_ for anything that might be a threat to you he is lighter than he has been for a long time. In between the pair of you is a child. A child that must be about six or seven-years-old. A _boy_ with his dark features and your eyes. He feels the acceptance from the pair of you and jerks his head back from you a little, his eyes resuming their normal colour. You turn your head towards him slowly. 

"You do have a future. I said that I would make you _last,"_ he says with what you sense is great difficulty, sitting back from you some more. 

"Until you decide my time is up," you sound annoyed with him. You hadn't expected a _vampire_ to go back on a possibility of a meal like this. For one moment you had been ready. _Prepared_ to die. Is he honestly going to make you suffer more? To drag out the cruelty that your life now seems to have mired in it, before _finally_ showing you any compassion?

"F/N," he says and you look at him. "You _have_ a future." He cannot _explain_ what he had seen just a few moments ago, but he wants to make you understand _that_ point at least. "It might not be the one that you _thought_ that you were going to have, and yes, human life is messy and complicated, but you _have_ a future. One that I will _happily_ be a part of should you allow me to." 

You are struck dumb by what he is saying. "Do you mean-?"

He looks away from you. Thoughts chase through his head. He doesn't know _how_ he had been able to see what he just had or if it _is_ the future, but until he knows either way then he wants to keep you close, he wants to protect you and be with you in _every_ sense of the word. If there is any possibility that someone like you _might_ be able to accept him fully for who he is one day, to go so far that you might even have a child with him, and he feels emotional from the thought, then he cannot let you go or allow himself to feast on you like he once might have done. "I _mean,"_ he is gruff as he chooses his words carefully, "That when I say that I want to make you last that I am not talking about weeks or months here." He feels your breath hitch beside him. He wants to ride on it to the happier place of his vision. "And if I am the one who has the _blessing_ of taking your life from you then it will only ever be, as you yourself have decided, an act of mercy, but it _won't_ be today. _Or_ tomorrow. It will be when you are an old woman, tucked up in bed and you ask for that one final thing from me. I will grant it to you then, but not before. You are _not_ going to allow that _poor_ excuse for a gentleman to rob you of your life. You are going to recover from this and _I_ am going to help you. I won't even take a drop of blood from you unless I have your consent. You have my word."

"But you will still hunt others?" you ask him. 

"It is what I am." He turns heavy eyes upon you. Will you _fail_ in this first act of acceptance? Or will you start to live up to the vision that he had seen? 

"O-Okay," you say shakily and you sound emotional yourself. 

His eyes light up. "I can stay?" You nod and then laugh a little when he helps you support the soup bowl as he peppers your face with kisses. It feels like the best kind of rain...the kind that cleanses you and allows you to be happy again and have hope in your life. _Hope_ with your new love Dracula who you _finally_ start to accept fully and snuggle close to.


End file.
